After an hour contacting the electricity board (its new incarnation) and ordering sinks, I squeezed my bags into Bertha’s panniers, filled up the oil and the vodka bottles strapped on the back and prepared to set sail. Unfortunately an earlier event with my GPS meant that it had forgotten its relationship with my earphones so I had to unmount and retreat indoors to the instructions and start afresh and fiddle about as I rode out of Cambridge before I could hear any directions.
Its 133 miles from home to the Brittany Ferries terminal in Portsmouth. There was little traffic on the road from Cambridge to the A1 but the M25 was queuing for much of the time I was on it, thankfully turning off for the A3, leaving another jam behind, to find my Little Chef I remember from my last trip, now renovated with smart red upholstery but still serving tea and scones for less than £5. Another stop for petrol and by the time I arrived at the terminal I was just waved through and up onto the boat without even a chance to stop and remove my super efficient earplugs so had no idea what anyone was telling me. Luckily everyone is well trained in exaggerated arm movements and I squeezed up about an inch behind another BMW or similar adventure bike with ABR magazine stickers and hard core luggage. Up on deck, a gnarled and bearded Spanish biker attempted to engage me in banter as we gazed down on the last cars and trucks driving on below. I realised – we both realised – that there is a great gulf between Spanish and English. I think he asked me some questions about my trip but I gazed at him completely uncomprehending. In the end I understood something, that its two hours ride from Santander, where we arrive, and his home town on the coast. He gave me a sticker of his motorcycle club.
I retreated to sundeck 6, the deck where the dog owners have to stow their annoying dogs and have them ticked off by a Frenchman with a clipboard. ‘Name?, you mean our name or the dogs’?’ Eventually we left 25 minutes late and I watched beautiful old Portsmouth pass by in the late afternoon sun as we sailed out into the sea, the green and bizarre Isle of Wight out on the right hand side (is that port or starboard?) as we sailed further out. One day perhaps we will all wake up and the Isle of Wight will have disappeared in the night. There will just be one of those slight inclines of the head, as if to say ‘well, that’s just one of those things’.
Finally I got into my cabin (the delay was to get the slow moving cleaners off the boat). This is one of the smaller cabins I’ve had, on the inside, so no view of the sea passing. Now I just need to wait till the children have all gone to bed and make my way up to find something to eat.
I ventured out to chose paella and a small bottle of white wine followed by another glass of wine and a couple of cigarettes on the cooling breezy deck in the dark, while the first live act in the bar started, a young woman in a black dress and too much make up sang to a recorded synthesised track, and small children ran in circles and screamed up above. Others watched English football on screens. Now I’m back in my cabin with Seven Pillars of Wisdom discussing the Arab encampment by night above Wejh. ‘Life in Wejh was interesting’, the chapter starts.
Getting the bikes off the boat will be interesting. There’s a mass of them and most of us will have to push our bikes backwards to drive them up the ramp into Santander.
Another journey tomorrow
Today is the end of the last public holiday here until Christmas. The evenings are already drawing in – its nearly dark now at 8.30 – and the Proms are running, marking the end of high summer. But tomorrow I head off on another motorcycle trip, my eighth. Every year since learning to ride I’ve taken one or more trips with a tent and other equipment strapped to the back, apart from the first where I braved German youth hostels for four nights with just a pair of crocks and a hazard triangle.
This year I’m heading back to Spain, on the ferry from Portsmouth down to Santander. Its the second time I’ve taken this ferry though the first time was an early morning sailing and I stayed in Travelodge Portsmouth the night before. ViaMichelin says it will take 2 and 1/2 hours to get down there, though I always leave in plenty of time. I’d far sooner hang around than feel worried about missing the boat. Each trip is an attempt to solve the problems that the previous trip opened up – avoiding rain, avoiding that alienating feeling of being surrounded by huge motorhomes where I camp, running out of good books, having too few gadgets, having too many gadgets.
The plan is to investigate northern Spain, no huge mileage to make this time, and being prepared to stay in one place, if its agreeable, for a while. I have a few new bits of equipment to test out, all bought with the aim of cutting down on space.
To Balderston’s Peterborough
I finally found the long way up there via the villages. My technique was to remember the next three place names that I needed to head for and eventually the GPS worked out where I was going. Missed turnings provide opportunity for U-turn anxieties.
I fingered some items at the BMW showroom but left without succumbing to temptation. I’ve decided, though, that the new liquid cooled GS has one advantage over the Adventures in the showroom – it is not such an intimidating lump.
Seat post for H
Strangely the seatpost did fit after seeming too small so the nice Brooks saddle can be unwrapped, and we have a nice high stem. Now just awaiting the tricky handle bars with the brake levers and gear shift lever, and how to route the cables on this frame without lugs for cable ends.
Building another bicycle
This time its a cycle for H. The starting point was a 1980s Coventry Eagle female frame (getting hard to get) built with Reynolds tubing and half chromed front forks, bought on ebay for £80 from vintage bike haus with an office near Finsbury Park. It had a bottom bracket that the seller told me was stuck but might be removed by a bike shop.
Experience tells me that the parts that are stuck into frames when you buy them eventually become the death knell of any bike you build, whether its siezed seatposts or bottom brackets.
A visit to Ben Hawards in Cambridge accompanied by the frame produced beautiful wheels (though out of style with the frame), a nine speed casette (the whole thing is wider than the dropouts at the back by 10mm but can be squeezed in), rear mech, gear chang lever and some tyres.
what we couldn’t find was the right size seat post, nor stem or handle bars, nor crankset nor chainwheel (we wanted a single one). Next, visit to what must be Cambridge’s most secret bike shop, Bicycle ambulance, hidden in a multi story car park. Lots of enthusiasm there and we got a useful crankset though they never replied to my emails.
Of course the cranks did not fit onto the ancient axle so it was time to borrow some tools to try to remove the bottom bracket in order to fit either a new axel or the whole thing with a sealed unit bought from BH. Strangely the fixed cup, often stuck beyond moving, came undone with no effort. I learned from Sheldon Brown that these are left hand threaded which might explain my complete lack of success removing these on other bikes. Now we have a new sealed unit that’s 500g lighter than the existing axel, bearings and cup.
So this is progress to date:
